


Looking After

by silver_fish



Series: bad things happen bingo [5]
Category: A Saga of Light and Dark - T. J. Chamberlain, Original Work
Genre: Codependency, Exhaustion, Fainting, Fever, Gen, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Illness, Of Earth and Sky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22754500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_fish/pseuds/silver_fish
Summary: Poseidon always works himself too hard. Somewhere, deep inside of herself, Nerissadoesknow the truth.All of this is her fault.
Relationships: Nerissa Smith & Poseidon Smith
Series: bad things happen bingo [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1634152
Comments: 5
Kudos: 3
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	Looking After

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KrisseyCrystal (IceCreAMS)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IceCreAMS/gifts).



> [twitter](https://twitter.com/laphicets) / [tumblr](https://kohakhearts.tumblr.com)
> 
> for my bad things happen bingo card! req was “raspy breathing” with nerissa and poseidon. poseidon is my favourite oc (not that i play favourites...lol) but i dont write a lot of fic centred around him unfortunately (ironically since hes the most major player in the novels, MAYBE with the exception of nerissa as the proper mc), so this was a lot of fun. his dynamic with nerissa is absolutely my favourite and is, of course, the most important relationship in the series! this fic contains spoilers for osa and a bit for the beginning of oes, but please enjoy!

It’s been happening more often.

They all tell her the same things, that it’s just a prolonged effect of the magical exhaustion, that it’ll go away, that she shouldn’t worry, but she can’t _help_ worrying, damn it, because who else will worry about him if she doesn’t? He’s only twelve, she wants to snap at them. He’s just a _kid_ , and he’s already done more for this world than _any_ of them have—and here, now, too, they are expecting _more_ of him?

He’s tired all the time. His appetite fluctuates constantly, though not as much as his sleeping habits. They have to be on the move, until they get to Hathet, but Nerissa wishes they could stop in one place just a _little_ longer, just so he can get a bit more energy back.

Today starts out no different, really, than the others have so far. From all the walking they’ve done now, she almost misses Chronos’s Gate, though she knows passing through it now would be worse, in a way, than ever before, especially if the Heavens are indeed only days or hours or maybe even seconds away from falling atop them. It would be better for Poseidon, at least, though; if he didn’t have to walk so much, always on guard, maybe he would not still be so tired, would not be worrying her so much. Emmet and Ada don’t seem to understand—even Avery, to an extent. But Isobel sends her these sympathetic looks, as if to say, _I feel your pain_. But Nerissa is not his mother, not at all, and so this somehow only makes her feel worse. Adrienne, after all, would know what to do.

Maybe she wouldn’t, though. These are just things Nerissa tells herself sometimes, things she thinks when everything feels like _too much_. But she is the only one Poseidon has left, and, clearly, she is the only one who is worried for him, who cares enough to notice that something is _wrong_.

“It shouldn’t be much longer,” Avery says, each new day they rise. “We’ll rest once we’re there, if we can. It’s not safe here, not for any of us.”

As if this is anything new, Nerissa thinks bitterly. Nowhere has ever been safe for her or Poseidon. They are enemies to all, the freaks of nature, those who do not and should not belong. Has he not suffered enough? And now to have _this_ , this incessant exhaustion, something he cannot shake himself free of…

Today is no different than the others, not really. But as the sun continues its crawl between horizons above them, she begins to hear it.

He is making a very active effort to keep her from hearing it, which is perhaps why she hasn’t noticed it until now, but it’s there: his breaths, heavy, ragged, through his mouth, somehow both too big and not big enough. Nobody else is listening for it, but of course Nerissa hears it. She comes to a stop, and, slowly, the rest of the group does too, shooting her those same exasperated looks.

“We need to take a break,” she declares.

“I’m fine,” Poseidon says, but even his voice is cracked, raspy, like he has been running for kilometres on end and has only just now come to a halt. His skin is flushed too, and though the sun invites with it a rather intense warmth, given how close they are to the equator, Nerissa doesn’t know, with any certainty, that it is _just_ the weather causing him to sweat.

“We can rest for a while,” Avery says after a moment. “Ada, check him over, would you?”

“Sure, Aunt Avery.” Ada drops her bag to the ground and then begins rooting through it for something, some sort of concoction that _might_ help but probably won’t. Nerissa watches with narrowed eyes as she directs Poseidon to sit, then has him take some sort of herb and chew on it. It must taste badly, because he screws up his face and chews slowly. After a while, she tells him to spit it out on the ground. “It’ll just sink into the dirt,” she promises when he looks doubtful, and he does.

Eventually, he does seem to improve, though he is still obviously quite tired. Emmet offers to carry him, but he refuses. When Nerissa offers the same, he grows frustrated with her.

“I can look after myself,” he snaps. “You’re overreacting, Issa. We shouldn’t stop so much, not just for me.”

“You need to be looked after,” she argues. “You’re just a kid—”

“So are you!”

“Mom told me to look after you!”

Though he opens his mouth, looking furious, he doesn’t get a chance to respond before Avery is cutting in with a, “If you think you’re all right, Poseidon, we’ll keep moving, but Nerissa is right that you shouldn’t push yourself too hard. Let’s not waste energy on fighting,” she adds tiredly. “Everyone, get ready to move on. We want to cross as much distance as we can before the sun sets.”

Everyone is quick to agree, but Nerissa remains, fuming. It is one thing for Poseidon to not recognize, or acknowledge, that something is wrong, but nobody else will listen to her, will see that he is ill, that he needs more than a fifteen or twenty minute break, that he _will_ push himself too far, even when they tell him not to. He always does, and who knows this better than Nerissa, who has known him his entire life, who jumped into the Sea after him and saw him unconscious at Circe’s feet, nearly drowned? Who has been watching, all this time, who knows that this is not her brother, not the way he is _supposed_ to be.

The further they travel, the sourer the group’s mood gets, too. Nerissa knows it could be any combination of factors, but she suspects that Poseidon is the root of the issue, as he tends to be where _feelings_ are involved. If, perhaps, they just gave him time to rest, catch his breath, the atmosphere around all of them would lighten, too, and yet nobody cares to hear what she has to say, stops to think that maybe she is not simply an overprotective sister. She knows what they think of her, after all: that she is a hysterical little girl who is still mourning her mother’s death, who is afraid she will lose her only remaining family, now, too. But she’s _not_. She is as level-headed as ever, and she _knows_ what is wrong, just as she knows the Sea is blue.

“C’mon,” Emmet says, pushing her forward. “This isn’t the hill you want to die on, is it?” He sounds amused, as if there is anything funny about this at all.

“Shut up,” she grouses. “I’m going, all right?”

She stays behind Poseidon, now, rather than beside him—she can sense he is still angry with her, like heat waves rolling off his body to her—but keeps a close eye on him nonetheless. She cannot hear his breathing pattern anymore, but suspects he is still wheezing, at least slightly, from the way he drags his feet as he walks on. As the afternoon fades to evening and the air begins to cool, he starts to slow, and, finally, she catches up to him again, concern overriding all else.

“Are you okay?” she asks quietly, urgently.

He takes in a deep breath, swaying slightly on his feet. “Fine,” he manages. “I’m okay, we can keep going—” But he cannot continue, cannot get any words out past the density of his breaths. For a long moment, he seems to be trying to get a hold of himself again, and Nerissa watches as, eventually, the others all come to a stop too, but when she turns back to Poseidon she is given only a sharp inhale to warn her before he is collapsing.

Panicked, she throws her hands forward, but it is Avery who catches him, using her wind to lower him more gently to the ground. For a beat, nobody moves, and then Nerissa rushes forward and kneels down beside him, a shaking hand at his chest, another at his forehead. He is so _hot_ , too hot, and his pulse feels shallow, from his neck to his wrist and even, then, to his heart. Suddenly, Ada is beside her, pulling things from her bag.

“I’ll take care of it,” she says, soft, as if speaking to a wild animal, but Nerissa just scoffs at her.

“It’s your fault this happened in the first place!” she snaps. “All of you, you _said_ —”

“It could have happened anyway,” Isobel puts in mildly from above. “Emmet, set up camp for the night, would you?”

Emmet sighs, but nods in resigned agreement. Any other time, he would have argued, but perhaps he has finally recognized the weight of the situation, the deep hole they have dug and thrown Poseidon in.

Suddenly, she realizes there are tears in her eyes, and she raises one hand to furiously wipe them away. Ada, seeming to have given up on pushing her away, is applying some sort of salve to Poseidon’s chest, and then up higher, over his throat and up to his nose, trailing his sinuses. Before she finishes, though, Poseidon jolts awake, gasping for air he cannot seem to get in.

“It’s okay,” Ada soothes. “You’re all right. Don’t move, okay, kiddo? You have a bit of a fever—”

“A bit!” Nerissa’s chest rises and falls heavily, full of rage, suddenly. “He’s seriously burning up—”

“You being hysterical won’t help,” Ada says coolly. “Why don’t you go help Emmet, Nerissa?”

“I’m not _hysterical_ —”

“Let’s let Ada do her job,” Isobel suggests lightly, coming to rest a calm hand on her shoulder. “We’ll need to make something to eat, so he can recover. You can help me.”

Nerissa lets Isobel pull her from Poseidon, but continues to glance over her shoulder, anxiety knotting painfully in her stomach. Finally, once she sees that Isobel is indeed setting things out for dinner, she feebly says, “I’m a terrible cook.”

“You don’t need to do any actual cooking,” Isobel assures her. “Once this is set up, you can chop these, all right? I’ll make a broth. _Imipar_. It is cleansing, for the body, the mind, and the soul. Especially the soul,” she adds. “In Ipasia, soul bonds were very important, you know. Emmet’s told you about _amila melega_ , yes? The idea of soulmates.”

“Yes,” Nerissa says quietly.

Isobel ushers her to the small block she has set up for chopping, then glides past her and begins setting rocks around the place the fire will be. “We all must look after our souls,” she says. “Or they will affect our soulmates’. But there are magical bonds, also. This is not something Ipasians necessarily cared about—my people did not worship gods, Nerissa, not the ones of Nakri, at least. Rather, we worshipped the Heavens themselves. Rain, sun, snow—it was all a blessing from the Heavens. It watched over us. But, you see, even the Heavens needed rest sometimes, and so every year we would come together for _lapiez_ , where we would not rest for twenty-five hours, so we might look after the world while the Heavens regained its energy.” Suddenly, flames ignite in her hands, and she guides them down to the makeshift firepit she has created, illuminating the area around them with a brilliant golden glow. “Poseidon has been through a terrible trial.” Finally, she turns to face Nerissa again. “His soul needs rest. But so does yours. Let Ada take care of him for right now.”

She _wants_ to protest, but finds she can only sigh, feeling suddenly quite deflated. She gives Isobel a jerky nod, and then lets the woman guide her through the meal she is making, though her mind stays on Poseidon. She sees him get up at some point, shaky, being guided into the tent by Avery and Ada, but while Avery reappears shortly thereafter, Ada and Poseidon never do. Eventually, Emmet begins to help his mother with the broth, and Nerissa steps aside, feeling bereft though not of her job.

Avery comes to sit by Nerissa, and for a long moment, neither of them speak.

And then Nerissa says, “This is your fault.” She cannot help it, though she _tries_ to keep the words back. They are there, right on the tip of her tongue, everywhere she looks. None of them understood, none of them cared, and now— _now_ they are here, now Poseidon is terribly, terribly sick, and…

“You can blame me,” Avery tells her, shrugging. “It doesn’t make it true.”

Nerissa scowls. “Except that it _is_. All of you, you _all_ said—”

“And that’s all this is, Nerissa. It’s magical exhaustion. That’s _all_. He’s not dying, for Heavens’ sake.”

“He could have been!” Nerissa scrambles to her feet, glowering down at Avery. “You act like I shouldn’t be worried—”

“Is this worried, Nerissa?”

“At least I gave a damn!” she erupts. “At least—at least I was _paying_ attention, unlike all the rest of you, and now—now, even though—I tried, but he _still_ —” She stops suddenly, gasping, and then clenches her jaw shut as she feels a sob trying to rise up in her throat. She will not _cry_ over this, certainly not here and now, where everybody can see her.

“Doesn’t sound like you blame me at all,” Avery says mildly, just as Isobel calls out, “Dinner!”

Dazed, Nerissa barely even notices as Avery rises and heads toward the fire. Barely even notices as Ada comes out, collects two bowls of broth, and then comes to Nerissa’s side, offering both of them out to her with an expectant look in her eyes.

“He won’t want to see me,” Nerissa mutters. “He’s mad, isn’t he?”

She shakes her head. “Of course he wants to see you, Nerissa. You were the first person he asked for. He’s a little fatigued, but he’ll be all right with some rest. He’ll want to see you, I promise.”

Nerissa takes the bowls, but doesn’t make for the tent, not yet. “Thank you,” she manages after a long moment, though the words feel uncomfortable, stiff, a little painful.

“I wouldn’t have left him,” Ada says quietly. “You should know by now, Nerissa. We care about you, both of you.”

But it has been _us_ and _them_ for so long, Nerissa thinks, that it would be impossible to ever think in any other terms. Oh, sure, they are reformists, Ada and Emmet may even be her friends, but—

But it has always been _family first_. And Adrienne is not here, anymore, is she, to look after them. They were four once, and now they are two, and Nerissa knows that she could not survive it if Poseidon died too, if she somehow made it out of this war without him by her side.

“Well,” she says, “thank you anyway. For bringing the soup, at least.”

And then, before Ada can say anything more, Nerissa stalks past her and heads for the tent. With only the barest hesitation beforehand, she enters to see Poseidon laid up in bed, under a thin blanket.

“Issa?” he croaks, and suddenly she gets that feeling again, like she might cry.

“Yes,” she whispers. “Yes, it’s me, I’m here. I’ve brought some soup. Can you sit up?”

It takes an obvious effort, but by the time she is at the side of his bedroll—she sits down near his feet, careful to leave him as much space as she can—he has managed to get into a sitting position. Silently, she hands him one of the bowls, watching with a tight throat as, with shaky hands, he begins to eat.

“I’m sorry,” she blurts. He stops, looks up at her. Those eyes, Adrienne’s eyes, damp and tired, hazy with the weight of the world all around him. Her throat goes dry.

“Don’t be,” he says after a moment, voice raspy, still, like it is too difficult for his body to even form the words to speak right now. “I pushed myself too hard, like you said. It’s not your fault.”

She opens her mouth, then closes it again, chest aching. It _is_ her fault, she suddenly realizes. It is not Avery, not Ada or Emmet or Isobel. This is _her_ fault, for not pushing harder, for not making him rest longer. He is her responsibility, now. Adrienne wanted her to look after him, and what has she done? Watched him nearly drown? Stood by while he battled with this horrendous exhaustion, the parasite that is Chaos leeching off of his magical energy? She should have given herself to Chaos instead, should have been the one to tie her magic to it. It would have been better, after all, would’ve saved him so much pain.

“I know what you’re thinking." He sets his spoon down as gently as his trembling hands will allow. “You shouldn’t worry so much, Issa. I hear it’s bad for you, you know, to worry too much.”

He is trying to joke, she knows. Trying to lighten her mood, to help her feel better as if _he_ is not the one with the high temperature, with this awful exhaustion.

But she can only shake her head, still feeling too heavy, far too heavy. “I have to worry about you,” she whispers. “I worry about you all the time. Who else is going to, if not me? You have no one else left—”

“That’s not true.”

“It is!” She inhales sharply, glaring down at her soup. “We’re the only ones left, you know that. Mom wanted us to stay together—”

“Issa—”

“—and she would be so—so _disappointed_ in me, for doing such a poor job! She would have known what to do, you know, would have—”

“But she’s not here,” he says, so quietly she might have missed it if not for the fact that she is always listening for him, to him.

Nerissa winces, but before she can say anything he is continuing with, “Issa, I know you’re worried, and—and maybe it’s still hard to trust the others, sometimes, but you’re not even that much older than I am. Mom wouldn’t want you to do this to yourself. I think…I think you’ve just—well, I think you’re misremembering, maybe, a bit. Mom loved us. She was proud of you. Wherever she is now, I’m sure she still is.” He pauses, seeming to need to catch his breath, but she dares not say anything in his silence, dares not even try to speak around this weight in her chest.

Finally, he repeats, “It’s not your fault,” and she nearly drops her bowl, so violently does her body react.

“It is,” she says hoarsely, once she has steadied herself again. “It _is_ , you just don’t understand because—because you’re younger, and that’s _good_ , Poseidon, I don’t _want_ you to understand, but—but I can’t—there’s no point, in any of this, if you aren’t there. I know…I know you like Ada and Emmet and the others, but…but none of them matter as much as you do, don’t you see? They never could. You’re the—the only person I have _left_ , and so…so when I don’t look after you…”

“I’m still here, though, Issa. I’m just a little sick.”

“A little!” She shakes her head again, blinking hard to keep her eyes from stinging. “You _could_ have died. If things had gone on longer—”

“But they didn’t.”

“But if they had! You don’t know what could have happened, you don’t even _realize_ how bad this could have been, how bad it _is_ , so—so you see, that’s _my_ job, to look after you! And I didn’t do it well enough, all right? So, yes, it _is_ my fault, and I don’t—I don’t want you to say it’s not, because it _is_.”

“I _do_ understand,” he says, earnest as ever. “I love you, Issa, so much, but—but this isn’t good for you, either, all this worrying. You’ll get sick too!”

It is the same thing Isobel said, but it is not any more convincing coming from Poseidon; if anything, it only makes her more certain that she _ought_ to be worried for him. He has always been like this, after all, saying he doesn’t need help when of course he does, how could he not? He is far too young, and it is true, maybe, that she is not much older, but she has known her whole life that, if something ever happened to Adrienne, it would be up to Nerissa to protect him.

“I just need to know you’re all right,” she finally says. “Okay? Just let me worry for a while, please.”

He has always known her so well, always been so attuned to her emotions—to everyone’s really, but especially to hers, his sister’s, the person who loves him most—and so, though he hesitates, he eventually nods and says, “I know you can’t stop, but I worry about you too.”

“Don’t.” She reaches forward and presses the back of a hand against his cheek, smiling gently. “Right now, the only one who needs looking after is you, so eat up, all right? And then get some rest.”

“You—”

“I’ll be here,” she says firmly, turning her hand so her palm rests against his face. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He nods, then turns back to the broth. She lets her hand fall away and leans back again, putting some attention to her own dinner. They eat in silence, and in his fatigued state it seems to take some time for him to finish, but eventually he does and she sets dishes aside, leaving them well out of the way. One of the others can come collect them later, she reasons. She promises she would not go anywhere, and so she will not.

For a moment, he seems unsure of what to do, so she says, “Lie down, Poseidon, get some sleep. I’ll watch over you.”

Perhaps a testament to how tired he really is, he does not argue. Though it is apparently not an easy task at the moment, he manages to fall back to his previous position, eyes already slipping shut even before his head hits the makeshift pillow.

She watches him closely, then removes herself from the bedroll and pulls the blanket up to his chin. With cautious fingers, she brushes dark, curly hair out of his face, her hand lingering for only an extra moment to check his temperature, which seems to have, thankfully, fallen quite significantly.

Though reassured he is not in immediate danger anymore, she stays close enough to touch him, not even taking her eyes off of him when someone comes to get the bowls, as the others begin to turn in for the night. None of them say anything to her, and they don’t speak above a whisper either, as if they do not want to disturb her vigil, this sitting in silence so terribly reminiscent of her mother’s funeral, all those weeks ago.

But no matter how tired she gets, herself, she will not stop watching over him. This is her duty, passed to her by their parents, which she has failed in so far but now, starting now, she vows that she will not fail again. She _can’t_ fail, cannot let him get hurt anymore.

He is all she has left, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are always appreciated! xx
> 
> if you're interested in learning more about or reading my novel series, i post all info on twitter [@laphicets](https://twitter.com/laphicets) and tumblr [@kohakhearts](https://kohakhearts.tumblr.com)! feel free to find me for general writing updates too; i also sometimes take fic requests on both platforms!


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